Cycles of life fill the world
and they amaze me
time and time again,
yet I cannot escape my own,
trapped as I am in a
continuously changing body.

My mind struggles with
the acceptance of my pain,
the necessity of the frustration,
knowing it will all return
until the final cycle wanes,
and till then I'll suffer.

I wish mine could be
as beautiful as the seasons,
but it is just an ugly mess.

I get up, I get down
yelling nothing, soundless sound.
say it wrong, try again
who is she? that's my friend
**** the spider, no remorse.
say i love you till my voice is horse.
cats that bite, autumn joy.
living life like a toy.
uninspired, not okay.
brightroom sings, end of day.

He doesn't love me
He pretends to smile
He probably could
It's just been a while

It's bittersweet
The way you don't care
You left so soon
Were you ever even there?

As time passes on
Memories do too
You'll forget about me
I'll forget about you

I'm moving on
You're no longer mine
As much as it hurts
I'll love again...

Just one more time...

Cross your arms in front and grip  

Peel away from your own skin

your 100% cotton exoskeleton

Raise it up, up, up

Let it envelop your head like a cocoon

Up, up, up  

Until you are naked again

Feel the breeze

Shiver

Walk over to the basket  

See how many you's you have been  

(they served you then)  

Walk over to the dresser  

Crawl into a new beginning  

Uncross your arms and relax

Go to sleep
you broken thing
you tired, tired
sack of tissue
say your prayers tonight
get up tomorrow
and be ready
to be broken all over again
Amen.

"As long as I
don't lose you
I am ok"

Those words will forever
be embedded in my brain,
because you still left me
what a shame.

I walk through life,
writing countless stories.
Surely of thousands stories,
a dozen would be deaths.
Plucking death from life;
is plucking seed from a fruit.

What is there to gain?
We say life have no reason, purpose, nor excuses.
So what say we live?

Plucking the seeds;
I witness countless threads.
From the bitterness of fate;
to the sadness of departure;
down to the solitary of loneliness.

I fear fighting those who have nothing,
those with nothing find comfort in death.
But... is death truly nothing?
Life is full, but emptied to the eyes of death;
Therefore, I tend to see life as nothing
and death as nothing;
ultimately, seeing through life and death.